Sillage
by Kazzyy
Summary: Certain impressions are made in space after something or someone has been and gone; Ed is about to learn that first hand. And magic? Really? Life just wouldn't give him a break.
1. Chapter 1

Hi all! First Crossover story here. I'm obsessed with both FMA and Harry Potter, so I wanted to contribute to the craze. Hopefully this will be a slightly more unique take on things. You'll see where Ed ends up. No pairings in this except what's canon, so there will be slight mentions of Ed/Win, etc.

Anyway, I hope you all take the time to review! I'll need the encouragment. This has been a long-time in coming. The story starts after Ed gets impaled with the steel beam while in Drachma. There's a long time period in between this and when Father's plans start to come together, so you'll end up seeing how that works out.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

"Are we sure this kid is worth it?" Heinkel asked for the ninth time, wincing as the freezing breeze cut sharply against his eyelids. At least the wind had regressed into an icy chill. The lack of distractingly high winds may have emphasized the significant temperature drop, but they were now able to take full steps forward. Both of Kimblee's former soldiers were currently in their animalistic forms—they had given their coats to the smaller boy whose limp arms were draped over each of their shoulders.

Darius grunted. "He did save our lives." His voice held doubt despite his conviction. They had been walking for about half a day now. The northern cold was living up to its dreadful reputation, indeed. Getting to the station that would transport them to the nearest doctor was much more out of their way than simply returning to Brigg's fortress. But there was no telling what Kimblee would do if he rerouted from the mines and saw the Elric boy alive, and if the Crimson Alchemist's plans were going well, Briggs was not exactly the safest place to be…

The smaller form between the two chimeras growled from underneath bundles of jackets. "I _can_ hear you, idiots. I'm not unconscious."

"Too bad," muttered Heinkel. He was on Ed's right side, hoisting up his automail arm. The abnormal weight was causing his shoulder to hunch uncomfortably. Heinkel couldn't help but think that without his metal limbs, the kid would probably weigh no more than a tree branch. A thin one. "I can see some ruins up ahead. Darius, we'll take a breather there and then we'll switch sides. The brat's automail is giving me a knot…"

Ed made an attempt at a snort; though, with his side still severely suffering from the pole that had sliced through it, and the wound only being sloppily meshed together with spur-of-the-moment alchemy-alkahestry, it came out as more of a hefty wheeze. "'S way lighter now, frickin' pansies."

"What're you spewing on about now, boy?" Darius asked, head shifting toward the snow-coated stones and broken concrete upsets that were just up ahead. If the runt hadn't pulled an entire collapsed floor off of them, he would be face-first in snow by now. The blonde somehow managed to make insults sound like nicknames, and neither Heinkel nor Darius were particularly fond of the talent.

Before Ed could rasp out anything, Heinkel stopped walking. Darius paused, staring at his companion. "You smell that?" Darius took a moment to sniff the air. They were about ten feet away from the small clutter of fragmented rocks and pieces of stone that appeared to have once made up a large building.

"Yeah," Darius answered. "There's someone here."

Ed managed to wriggle his head out from the heavy coats. His sore eyes squinted, struggling to adjust to the blinding whiteness that touched everything in his vision. "I think I see a person," he said indifferently. He tried to move his legs to signal to the two chimeras to let him down; they merely lifted him higher. Ed made an annoyed sound.

"Hold your horses, kid. We don't know if it's an enemy or not."

Ed's arms were aching from being held up for so long, and from what he could see, the figure up ahead of them looked crippled and half-alive. "He looks hurt."

Heinkel rolled his eyes. "What, you want us carry some frozen, homeless nobody now, too?"

"What I want," said Ed slowly, "is to get out of the wind, and to see if that guy is alive. Now, move already. My eyebrows are growing icicles."

After a moment more of contemplating, both Heinkel and Darius moved forward, their animal instincts collaborating and concluding that the figure was not an immediate threat. Upon getting closer, it became clear that the man was not breathing. His old, decrepit form was slumped on one elongated stone and barely perched up against another jutting vertically from behind the first.

"Shit," Ed swore. "Put me down."

Reluctantly, the chimera gently lowered him to the ground, keeping a hold of him until he attained somewhat of a balanced gait and hobbled over to the man against the stones. The man's skin, upon further observation, was a mat of wrinkles upon more wrinkles. His white hair was almost as blinding as the snowfall around him, with a scruffy moustache and beard to match. He was wearing an interesting black cloak, but it hardly looked thick enough to prevent against even the slightest of the winter winds. One of his eyes was partly open.

Ed's eyes lidded gloomily. "He must have gotten lost up here. He probably just fell asleep from exhaustion, and then . . . "

Heinkel sighed. This kid was truly bizarre—mourning over an old man he hadn't even known. He placed a hand on Ed's shoulder, something that felt very out of place and necessary at the same time. "We can bury him, if you want."

Ed nodded. He placed his human hand on the man's face, probably to close the old guy's eye—

The kid's hand shot back like it had been burned. "What's the matter?" Darius asked, alarmed. Ed's mouth opened, brow furrowed in utter confusion. He slowly levered his hand down again and pressed two fingers to the old man's cheek.

"His skin . . . it's _warm_."

Several things happened in the next two seconds. First, the old guy's eyes shot open and he launched himself to his feet; Edward fell abruptly to the snowy ground and Heinkel leapt back, his movements mirrored by Darius. Second, the old man pressed a stick to the bridge of the kid's nose, arm poised into a practiced position. And finally, the snow that had been draped across the man's sitting place was swept away by an unknown force that didn't exactly feel like wind, and several alchemic arrays were revealed upon the stone.

"Who are you?" questioned the old man, gruffly.

Heinkel thought that Ed appeared much too startled upon realizing that the dead, frozen old guy was actually alive to answer properly; not to mention that the same not-dead, not-frozen old guy was currently threatening him with a stick. So the lion humanoid took matters into his own hands.

Grabbing the bottom of the kid's red coat with an extension of his hand and claws, he quickly dragged the boy out of reach of the robed man. "Elric, you stay back. We'll handle this chump."

The man's white beard twitched. His glossy eyes widened, and then the crescent moon-colored gaze snapped down to Ed. "Elric?" he started in a very thick accent, almost frantic. "Edward Elric?" Heinkel signaled to Darius to not attack—not yet, anyway.

Ed nodded dumbly, most likely because he seemed unable to speak; he was clutching his side, gritting his teeth. The brash movements probably hadn't been so good for him. The old man smiled brightly. "Please, do forgive me, my dear boy. I have been waiting a long time for your arrival."

"Excuse me?" Ed gnashed out, confusion molding with his trademark scowl. "Do I know you?"

"Oh, of course not," twittered the man folding his cloak around him, as it had unwound earlier, revealing colorful robes. "But let me say, it is an honor to meet a presence such as yours—to think, needed in not one, but _two_—" He cut himself off. "But here I am, getting ahead of myself."

Ed cut in before the old man could continue. "Listen, gramps. How the hell are you surviving out here? You looked dead until about a minute ago! Why are you here, and why do you know me?"

The old man chuckled. "How did I—well, magic, I suppose."

All three members of his audience were rather unimpressed by his answer.

"Okay, you old codger, we were just here taking a break. We'll be on our way, and you'll be on yours. We have no further business here." Darius folded his arms threateningly; Heinkel then realized that the man hadn't acted surprised by their rather unconventional forms at all.

The old man wasn't listening, however, and was still watching Ed intently. "My boy, are you injured?"

Ed frowned, clutching his side possessively. "What's it to you?" he sneered stubbornly.

The old man hummed a bit. "Well, that just won't do. But I can help you with that before we—oh yes, before I forget. Here." He pulled a small note-sized piece of paper from one of the folded notches in his cloak and reached in front of Ed, dropping it in his lap.

Ed stared down at the note, eyebrows elevating. "Sixty degrees . . . forty-four north—coordinates?"

"Right where we are standing, actually."

Ed's brow furrowed even more. "Hang on . . . is that—is this my handwriting?" The kid's breathing hitched, and Heinkel watched the note crumple within his automail's ironclad grasp. "I've never seen this before. I didn't write this!"

The old man smiled. "But you did. Or, rather, you will. Never mind that now, though. We must get started."

"Get started on _what_?"

"I can't tell you how relieved I am that you're here. I must admit, I didn't know if I would make it—it's been a few years, and I wasn't sure how much time my last dosage of elixir would give me." The old man smiled softly. "This place is complicated, but your alchemy _is_ fascinating."

Heinkel was about ready to sock this psychotic fool in the mouth. Nothing he was saying made any sense. He'd have to get the kid to a safer location before trying anything though; he could sense the blonde's exhaustion. They needed to rewrap his wound before the cold set in on the first set of bandages.

Ed spoke up before Heinkel could make his first move. "Are those . . . alchemic arrays?" Heinkel followed the kid's gaze to the old man's stick. Indeed, there were small circles etched down the side of it, as well as upon the hand holding it.

"Yes, I'm afraid my, ah, _energy_, doesn't work quite the way it should, here. I had to improvise, somewhat. But, no matter. You're here, and I can finally be finished." He gazed distractedly at his stick. "My life has been far too long."

Ed's eyes widened uneasily. "What do you mean, gramps?"

The old man stared at the boy, again. He let out a light laugh. "You're just a child . . . " he said, ignoring Ed's offended expression. "But then, I have seen children do incredible things." He shook his head, as if waking up from a memory. His eyes flickered over to Heinkel and Darius. "Please, forgive me for my rudeness, gentlemen."

Heinkel hardly had time to figure out what the old codger meant before he brandished his stick and they were suddenly flying through the air, landing in the cold, wet snow with two great _thuds_. He flickered his furry ears, suddenly realizing that he could do no more than sit up, and tried to listen in on what the old man was saying.

"Hmmm . . . that was supposed to simply stun them." He scrutinized his stick for a moment, sighing. "A year of practicing with your _alchemy_ and I still don't have it down."

Heinkel could see the blonde's gape from his stuck position. "What'd you do to them, you geezer?!"

"My legs aren't working," grumbled Darius, sullenly.

"Mine either," answered Heinkel, slightly disturbed. What the hell had that stick done to them?

The old man shrugged nonchalantly. "I promise they will be fine. It will wear off in a few moments. Which is why we must get started. I cannot have any more delays."

The kid could only struggle back a few inches, still clutching at his side and wincing. The old man, however, paid him no mind. With another flourish of his stick, the snow covering any portion of the stones around him and the boy flushed away, revealing an immense transmutation circle. Ed made a strangled sound, glaring at the old man.

"What the hell is this?" he demanded.

"It took me many months to figure it out, and to get all the measurements just right. You alchemists are truly talented in the ways of your complex arrays." The old man turned back to Ed, still smiling kindly. "Now then, shall we?" He concentrated for a moment and then pressed the tip of this stick to the circle. It glowed a bright, iridescent blue.

Heinkel struggled; he could feel his legs becoming less numb, but it wasn't happening _fast_ enough—

Ed growled and went to clap his hands together, only to stop about three inches from his regular prayer-like symbol. His jaw was clenching so hard that his eyes looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets.

"Sorry, my boy, but I was warned about your more _unique_ technique." The old man had his stick pointed at Ed, somehow stunting the kid's movements. "There's no need to jump to conclusions, you're going to be fine."

"Why should I trust you?!" Ed shouted, face turning red from trying to press his hands together. "This isn't a human transmutation circle, but it's damn close—you're gonna get us both killed!"

"On the contrary, I am the only one to die today."

Both Heinkel and Darius froze in their attempts to get moving at the old man's words, their keen ears catching Edward's sharp intake of air.

"What did you say?" Ed's eyes were wide.

"Equivalent exchange—is that not the rule of your alchemy? Of this world? In order to get you where you are needed, I will provide the sacrifice."

The kid was shaking his head, looking panicked; his hands were still raised a few inches apart. "Don't do this—_ugh_!" He had tried to stand up, but the movement forced his body to bend in half, and he moved one of his hands to put pressure on his side, stifling a groan.

The old man, his face trenched in the blue light, stared down at the kid in sympathy. "That's right, you're wounded." He readied his stick, and Heinkel started to feel his toes. "This won't heal it, unfortunately, but it will give you the energy you will need. I am sorry I cannot provide more accurate aid." He tapped the kid on the head and a soft light expanded down from the blonde's temples.

Suddenly Edward was gasping like there was not enough oxygen in the air around him. He could only clutch at his chest, helpless as the old man smiled again and put his stick away, bringing his palms down to the circle.

"_No!" _

Ed's scream was bitten off by an unnatural screech in the air; it whistled and stung Heinkel's ears, even as he was running towards the boy, arm outstretched, just having gotten the movement back in his legs. It was useless, like trying to catch a bit of cloudy mist in a jar around the mountain boarders when fall first rolled in. The old man and the kid disappeared in a blinding flash of light, and Heinkel was left skidding on the ice, straight into the stone that the old man had been sitting on when they first arrived.

He spat out chunks of snow and fisted the ground in aggravation. Darius slowly walked over and paused before bending down and helping his friend up.

"We should probably tell somebody about this." The gorilla humanoid frowned.

Heinkel sighed. "Are we sure this kid is worth it . . . ?" His echoing question fizzled in the air when the northern wind hit it.

"He _did_ save our lives," Darius grunted, phrasing his response for the second time.

Heinkel swore.

* * *

Ed was falling. Actually, he was kneeling on a sort-of platform, but it felt like he was falling. He could hear the uncomfortable swooshing in his ears and the nauseous feeling in his stomach was growing by the second. He forced himself to swallow, even as he felt the platform tipping. He didn't dare look behind him. A hand placed itself on his shoulder; Ed's eyes opened.

"What have you done?" Truth's laughter echoed faintly in the resonance of Ed's voice.

The old man was kneeling in front of him, offering what he probably thought was a comforting smile. Mostly Ed just wanted to kick him in the throat. He didn't want to acknowledge that they were at the Gate—he wasn't supposed to be back here, not yet. Panic blossomed like a purple bruise in his intestines, and again, he forced himself to swallow. He couldn't think about the fact that Al's body could be here somewhere, and that he had nothing to offer for it. He couldn't think about the fact that the old geezer had said he was sending him somewhere… somewhere he _didn't_ need to be. He couldn't think about the fact that the decrepit bastard was going to sacrifice himself in order to do it, either.

"I am terribly sorry for this, my boy. But you will understand soon. You are important."

Ed glared. This guy didn't know he was ruining everything. _Everything_. The platform tipped more, and Ed's world lurched. He grasped at the flooring. He wasn't going to fall; he wasn't going to, damn it!

"Don't fight," the old man commanded. "You will make it back. Just make sure you get the right bit of him when you do."

Ed hissed. The man was insane. "You don't know _anything_!"

The white beard smiled at him. "Perhaps not. But I know that it is you alone who can do this. Burdens fall upon those least expecting it."

Ed's eyes lit aflame with coursing anger at the man's audacity. As if he didn't have enough burdens to deal with. "Don't act like you can just—you _transmuted_ us!"

"I transmuted myself," corrected the old man. "You are simply passing through."

Ed braced himself further when he felt himself slipping. "I don't even know what you're talking about!" he shouted, enraged. "Why are you doing this to yourself!"

His voice cracked slightly when he could see the old man's form begin to dissipate. No, _no_. He couldn't watch this. It was beyond wrong. Was this his fault? Was he somehow to blame for this man's toll? Even though Ed was absolutely positive he had never met the man before in his life, he could feel the familiar grip of guilt as it constricted his lungs.

The bottom of the stranger's robes started to disintegrate. Ed desperately grabbed onto the sleeves of the robe. He was _not_ going to responsible for another person's death!

"I am simply fulfilling what must be done." The old man's smile never faltered. "Death is not always tragic, Edward. Now I can see my wife again. She has been waiting for me these past few years, after all."

It was all Ed could do to keep himself from slipping into whatever oblivion he was being sent to—he held onto the geezer's sleeves, determined. He couldn't guarantee that the old man was telling the truth. If it were a ploy by the homunculi, he would be dead within a second. But they needed him. Maybe he was being taken to a place where they were rounding up the sacrifices?

_This doesn't make sense_, he thought to himself, distraught.

"Damn it," Edward growled. The sleeves were beginning to lose tangibility.

A light from the Gate doors behind the old man began pulling him. Ed kept swearing, holding on to the disappearing sleeves. "What's your name?" he gasped out, wildly thinking of ways to fix this situation; delay it, even. If he could somehow communicate with Truth… but then, that never went well.

"You can call me Nicolas. Nicolas Flamel." The old man locked their gazes. "Good luck, Edward Elric." The warm light consumed him.

And then Ed was falling. It was so fast, he couldn't work up a shout. He was grabbing—grabbing . . . for what? For something—anything. He realized he couldn't see. Everything was dark, darker even than when he closed his eyes. He felt a giant tug on his sternum, and his world completely flipped over.

A familiar blue electricity burned through him, and he hit the ground hard.


	2. Chapter 2

Hi guysss-thanks ever so much for all your lovely reviews! They were such motivators and it was great to hear what you all had to say! Now we're at the second chapter. Previously, Ed ended up being snatched away by one Nic Flamel in a distorted transmutation circle. Let's see where he ends up, now, shall we?

-00-

* * *

The first thing Ed noticed when he woke up was that he couldn't really breathe. He let out a choked gasp upon regaining consciousness, flexing all of his fingers and toes to make sure his limbs (mechanical or not) were working properly. He attributed his lack of air-intake to the thudding pain in his back. He realized that he was lying on an uprooted slab of concrete between two buildings. An alley? He could smell tar and trash—there was a dumpster to his left—and something burning. He forced his eyes to relax, trying to destroy each little white spot that danced around in front of them with his mind.-

He groaned and sat up. Rubbing his head and quickly moving his hand down to rub his shoulder where he knew a fantastic bruise would be forming, Ed blearily stared at his surroundings, trying to figure out how the _hell_ he had gotten there.

When everything came back to him in the next instant, he wished he hadn't tried so hard to remember.

An eye-searing light, Heinkel and Darius running at him, the old man—Flamel—smiling as his body disintegrated . . . Ed pressed his palms over his eyes, adding pressure to distill the images. Unfortunately, it didn't help other than to reignite the twittering white dots before his eyes.

_Your alchemy . . . this world . . . in order to get you where you're needed . . . You will make it back . . . _

Flamel's words echoed in Ed's head like a great, clanging bell. If he was understanding the implications correctly, then . . .

"Shit." He repeated the word about six more times. And then he punched the ground for good measure.

It didn't make _sense_. It didn't make any sense at all! A different world? How was that even possible? How could passage through realms be triggered by an alchemic reaction? He'd never heard of such a thing.

No, he must be jumping to conclusions. He must just be in a different part of Amestris—a different country, even. There were theories, of course, but no one had ever delved into actual study of interdimensional travel because the entire idea was a joke. The energy required would be more than what equivalent exchange could offer, but then Flamel had traded his whole self for Ed.

One life for a one-way ticket, perhaps?

Ed took a controlled breath. He couldn't think about this anymore. It was too messy. This had to be some sick attempt to muddle up his wits by Father and the homunculi. It had to be.

Then he heard the screams.

Forcing himself to his feet, Ed scrambled out of the alley and quickly understood why there was a foul burning smell in the air. All around him were houses on fire. Flames were licking past the rooftops at the early twilight stars, the sun curdling behind the haze of smoke as it receded from the scene at an agonizingly slow pace.

That's when Ed noticed that not all the flames burned with the same orange and red tones as he was used to seeing spout out of the Colonel's fingertips. Good bulks of the fires were a sickly, noxious green, and others a deep maroon tinted with purple. He vaguely wondered if throwing water on these flames would even douse them.

Ed snapped back into action, focusing on where he had heard the screaming from before. There was a house, which was about seven feet from the alley he had woken up in, with some of the disturbing green flames beginning to feast upon the outer edges. He made a mental note to avoid those at all costs.

Another piercing scream cut through the air and Ed expertly launched himself over the gate surrounding the house, landing in a small yard. He hurried over to the slightly open window, prepared to punch through it with his automail fist until he saw what was inside.

A young mother was shrieking, being held down by slithering ropes that were cutting into her wrists, as her two young children writhed on the ground, their own screams adding to the chorus of terror.

There was a red light that enraptured the older boy—probably seven or eight—and it maneuvered itself over to the little girl. She was maybe four. The hellish light bouncing between the two siblings was coming from a stick held by a malicious looking woman with wild, black hair. Ed suddenly remembered Flamel's stick, and how it had been some sort of channeling mechanism for the old man's own alchemic inductions. But this didn't look like any alchemy he'd ever seen.

Ed bit his tongue when a tendril of green fire lashed out at his ankles, forcing him to leap about two feet from the window. He looked at the glass in horror when the woman began screaming again.

"Please, stop, _please_! Don't hurt them—my babies—_stop_!"

Her voice was trumped by a shrieking laugh that made Ed sick. He tried to aim at the window again, but the green fire was intent on slowing him down, completely obstructing his path as he punched the glass. He drew his fist back in alarm, the metal sizzling from contact. He deduced that the fire was toxin-based; he didn't necessarily understand how it had been created, but he concluded that it would probably melt off his flesh if he came in contact with it rather than just blister like a normal fire.

"Your turn, muggle filth!" sang the same voice that had laughed. Ed tumbled out of the way as another flame shot towards his chest, reminding him of Lust's malevolent talons.

He realized, unexpectedly, that, while he understood the muffled voices perfectly, they weren't speaking Amestrian.

There were several flashes of a green light inside the house that resembled the evil flames, and a resounding _crack_.

"Damn it!" roared Ed, clapping his hands together, narrowly avoiding yet another flame. The fire was growing. He pressed his palms to the earth and it overtook the flames, suffocating them under feet of soil and rocks. A few flames seemed to try to sneak away, as absurd as it sounded, creeping up the side of the house until Ed squandered them by putting his hands on the house and compressing them between layers of brick.

And then, he took out the wall.

Racing inside his newly formed entrance, Ed came to an abrupt halt. The young mother had a look of horror on her face, sticky tears streaking down her cheeks, but she was very clearly dead. The two children simply looked twisted, their bodies distorted in positions that no human body should be able to form.

Ed felt a wave of nausea hit him when he realized the woman was pregnant.

Carefully, his stomach turning, he repositioned the corpses so that they were lying next to one another. He closed their eyes, trying not to look at the terribly blank glaze that had fallen over their dead stares; it was a very unnatural death.

His ears flickered on again when he heard the same, unnerving laugh that he had heard coming from this room; this time it was outside. Anger coiled through his bloodstream. He ran out the front door, forcing the images of the blank eyes and the mangled children out of his head.

There were people outside, more people with sticks who looked to be dousing the fires with other bursts of color that should not be coming out of sticks.

Ed swiftly ignored them, deciding that as they were fighting the evil flames, they were not immediate dangers—as well as the fact that they were all wearing the same kind of cloak and robes that Flamel had been.

The awful phrase _other world_ floated across his mind, and he squandered it like his boot would a beetle.

He heard something whizzing at the back of his head as he examined the area around him and immediately ducked, covering his face when the blast exploded on one of the building walls forming the alleyway. Ears ringing only slightly, Ed heaved himself up and began running. He didn't know if this was the way that sick hag had gone, but he didn't have much of a choice. He heard more whizzing, and propelled his legs faster. There were jousts and calls coming from behind him, but if he could just get to the top of the hill overlooking the line of houses that this street led to, then maybe he could formulate an actual _plan_ on what to—

Someone grabbed his arm and pulled him to the ground, and Ed found himself with a mouth full of gravel.

"You're gonna get yourself killed, kid!" reprimanded a masculine voice. "Stay down! I can help you, but only if you—"

"Get off of me," hissed Ed, spitting some rocks out of his mouth. He realized that the stranger had pulled him down behind a bench; though, it was hardly sufficient cover from the flying blobs of color and sparks that were streaming through the air. The man had shaggy black hair and an obnoxiously structured face that reminded Ed an awful lot of the bastard Colonel. The man gave him an annoyed look that didn't really help his case in Ed's mental comparison.

"Look, these guys are out of your kind's league. They'll kill you if they find you—"

"Sirius!" there was a loud popping sound that made Ed nearly jump out of his skin, and another dark-haired stranger landed in a crouch next to them. His hair was spiking in every direction. "You okay? We lost track of you . . . " he stared at Ed. "You found a survivor?" He grinned, his glasses going lopsided across his face, and then he _ruffled Ed's hair_. "You're a lucky kid, you know that?"

Ed seethed under the first man's grip.

"Yeah, I don't know where he came from, but my _lovely_ cousin and one of her fellow lackeys were following him as he ran up the hill."

The messy-haired stranger was about to respond when the first stranger jumped into action and pushed both of them out of the way of a green flash of light. The park bench exploded with the gooey green flames that Ed had become so fond of.

"Well, well," jittered an irritatingly screechy voice. "Looks like my blood-traitor kin is living up to his weakling-loving name after all."

She tutted disapprovingly. "Helping muggles, now, are we, Sirius? Be a darling, and hand him over, will you? I want a little more fun before the rest of your goody group shows up and spoils it." Her smile was yellow and more rotten than her eyes.

Ed barely had time to ask himself what the hell a muggle was before he had shoved both of the strangers off of him. The woman raised an eyebrow at his antics, but her smile didn't wane.

"Hey," he started, fighting down a growl. "Did you kill that family down there?" He jilted his thumb in the direction of the street of houses. It looked like most of the fires were out. There were more people in cloaks coming in this direction. Only the man on the woman's right was wearing a mask, though. Hers was slung around the back of her neck.

Her smile stretched into a grin. "What family, little muggle?"

Ed's glare was withering. He ignored the two men as they scrambled to their feet behind him, the Mustang-look-alike guy hissing at him to stand down. "Two kids. Young mother. House on the left."

The woman cackled, rocking back and forth on her heels. "Why?" she crooned. "Did the little muggle _know_ the pathetic muggle family?"

"You're lucky I didn't, you _hag_!" Ed bellowed, eyes narrowed into slits. The woman's grin turned malicious, and she waved her stick. Ed was ready, mentally crossing his fingers.

The red blast hurdled out of the tip of her stick just slower than he could blink. He raised his arm in front of his face, and it split across his automail, his arm completely unaffected, just like after the green fire had touched it. His coat's sleeve had ripped a bit, but the metal was still mostly covered.

For the first time, the woman's smile faded. Ed noticed that both men had stopped trying to grab at the back of his pant legs and coat, too.

"What is this magic?" the woman questioned aloud, eyes lowering to Ed's shiny arm.

Ed actually snorted. "Magic? Yeah, okay."

The woman did not find his inquiry quite so amusing. "So, the little muggle thinks he can play with me, does he?"

Ed felt a vein snap in his forehead. _That's three times now!_ "Don't call me little!" He clapped his hands together, and before anybody could react, he slammed them down onto the concrete, blue energy crackling out from underneath his palms. Portions of the street came shooting up, pummeling the woman from the side and sending her flying. Ed quickly transmuted a small wall to block the two strangers from earlier when the woman's friend began shooting blasts out of his stick like rapid fire.

"That's for those two little kids, you _bitch_!" Ed snarled, watching her skid across the pavement. He jumped into action when another cloaked figure with a mask appeared out of nowhere. He caught the man by surprise and jump-kicked him, hearing a resounding _crack_ when his foot connected with the man's jaw.

Flipping out of the way of the first masked man's blasts, Ed jumped and dodged with ease until he was within arm's reach, snapping the guy's head to the side with a quick left-handed punch.

It was obvious that these people had no experience with hand-to-hand combat; they seemed to prefer to fight at a distance and aim with their energy-sticks. He still needed to figure those out . . . And, please. _Magic? _ He was surprised something so childlike had exited the psycho woman's rancid mouth.

Two more _pops_ brought Ed back to the fight at hand. He was getting really irritated that they were literally coming out of thin air. He fought the urge to calculate the possibilities in his head. He needed to focus.

Quickly transmuting his automail into a blade, Ed shot down into a crouch to avoid a particularly nasty-looking purple blob of sparks and jumped into the air when the offending masked figure ran at him. Ed twisted in the air, bringing his left leg around to crush into the man's face; the guy flew across the street into an octagon-shaped sign.

Upon landing, Ed immediately bent backwards to avoid another set of red sparks and took off after the shooter. _These sticks are _really_ annoying_, Ed thought to himself as he dodged yet another flay of sparks. The masked figure was waving his stick frantically, but since no more sparks were shooting out of it, Ed disregarded the movements. With one neat sweep of his right arm, the stick was in two pieces.

The man was screaming curses at Ed now, wailing about his broken stick. Ed sighed, and punched the guy in the mouth with his left fist. The man fell to the ground, swearing, with blood drizzling down his chin.

"Stand down, you _idiots_!"

Ed glanced up, shifting into a fighting stance when he saw that the woman was back up on her feet. She didn't seem to be keen on meeting him in round two, however, and was busy yelling at her fellow masked freaks.

"Get out of here, now! The Order has arrived." There were several cracks in the air as three of the four masked figures popped away into nonexistence. The fourth simply whimpered at his broken stick.

"_You_," the woman seethed, her grin revealing two missing teeth under wild obsidian eyes as she looked at Ed. Blood dribbled down her chin. "This isn't over, boy." And then, she too disappeared with a _pop_.

Scowling at the lack of her visage, Ed didn't quite realize that he was surrounded until it happened. Two robed figures were on the man with the broken stick, ropes somehow flying out of the tips of their own sticks to apprehend him. Ed warily took a few steps back, searching through the people—twelve of them, maybe—until he found the faces of the two dark-haired strangers who had been hounding him earlier. They had matching expressions of bewilderment.

"Who is this kid?" a voice echoed in the circle. Ed clenched his fists.

The first stranger—Sirius—shook his head in amazement. "He took down five Death Eaters in less than six minutes. He didn't even use magic." Magic, again? Okay, so maybe they were all crazy. Murmurs erupted from many of the robed figures around them. Ed slowly brought his arms up.

"Whoa—hang on!" the second stranger with the messy hair spoke up. "We're the good guys—you had it right before!" Ed paused, but took a step back regardless of the man's plea. He deemed it best to simply get out of here before anything else happened. He needed to clear his head and figure out where he was, exactly.

A white-hot pain suddenly exploded from his side.

Gasping, Ed's hands went straight to where his side wound was now bleeding profusely. The thin layer of skin that he had merged with sloppy alkahestry felt almost completely torn. The wound itself hadn't opened up entirely . . . but considering the sudden dizziness, things weren't looking good.

How . . . how had he forgotten about it? How had he not _felt_ it since waking up?

_This won't heal it, unfortunately, but it will give you the energy you will need._

Flamel's voice sounded, once again, in Ed's thoughts. He recalled the massive adrenaline rush the man had somehow afforded him, and felt irrationally angry. "That bastard," he croaked out, wincing, and fell to the ground.

Voices rang around him, and he could hear the messy-haired guy trying to talk. A hand was slapping lightly at his face.

"Hey kid, kid! Come on, wake up!"

"James, he's bleeding—"

"C'mon, let's get him back to base . . . "

Ed continued to curse Flamel's name until he completely faded into unconsciousness.

* * *

Sirius frowned. "We're not chaining him down, Moody."

"And why not? I saw what the little fellow did—some sort of dark, wandless magic, no doubt." Moody's scarred chin stretched as he gruffed, his glass eye momentarily spinning around in the socket.

"Well, chains won't exactly stop the bleeding, will they," chirped James, _ahem-ing_ to get Moody to move over as he levitated the blond kid down on the table. Blood immediately drizzled across the tabletop. "Sorry about this, Molly," James continued, looking up at the fretting redheaded woman as she descended the staircase of her home.

"Oh my, _oh my_," she waved James off, shoving him over to look at the kid. "He's just a child—did he get hit by a spell?" She began rolling up her sleeves, preparing to heal his wound.

Sirius shook his head. "No, it was like it just appeared out of nowhere—or that he had forgotten about it before he started fighting in the first place."

Molly's head snapped up. "Fighting? Is he a wizard?"

Moody made an animalistic sound. "Hardly. The brat's dangerous, though. We need to get him prepared for questioning—"

"A child is bleeding to death on my _table_, Alastor. I am going to heal him before you and your paranoia get a hold of him." Molly's piercing look made both Sirius and James take a step back. "Where are the other members, anyway?"

"Oh, they're coming," hummed James.

"Yeah, the little guy made quite an impression back there," agreed Sirius, ignoring Moody's electric blue glare, and stepping around to examine the kid again. He was blond, with startlingly gold eyes, if Sirius was remembering correctly.

"He hardly looks older that Bill," Molly sighed, stroking the bangs out of the boy's face. Sirius imagined the eleven-year-old redhead in his mind. The blond kid's face still had a bit of childhood roundness, but he had a strong jaw. He was definitely in his early-teens, at best.

The door to the Burrow slammed open. "James! Oh, I was so worried—they said you had gone off to stop an impromptu attack and then it was taking so long and—" Lily paused from suffocating James with her hug and stared in shock at the boy on the table. She paled.

"He's alive, love, take a deep breathe," said James soothingly, rubbing her shoulders.

"I don't think I can watch anymore children die," Lily said softly. She looked up at Sirius. "What happened to him? Is he a muggle?"

"Yes and no?" said Sirius at the same time as Moody declared, "He's a demon."

"He's not a demon, old man!" said Sirius, annoyed. "Why did you have to be the one to follow us back, again?"

Moody growled in the back of his throat. "Well, he's not all human. And you were lucky to get me as an escort, _Black_." His protruding eye zoomed over to the boy. "Look at his right arm, and his left leg."

Molly huffed. "Well, I need to get his shirts off if I want a better look at his wound, anyway. Boys, hold him up for me, will you?"

Sirius and James obliged, making sure his head and neck were straight before lifting him up. Deftly, Molly dragged off the boy's blindingly red coat, quickly unhitching the black jacket that was underneath, carefully avoiding his side as she pulled that off his left arm, and then his right . . .

There were several gasps. Sirius let out a long whistle. The metal that had somehow deflected Bellatrix's curse from earlier wasn't merely some sort of armor, as he had been thinking. It was the kid's entire arm. There was something resembling a port on his shoulder, from which the rest of the limb seemed to pivot off of. There were thick, silver bolts embedded into the port that stretched above his shoulder a few inches, and they were obviously molded into his skin, creating dark, unpleasant welts and scarring that snaked form under the edges of the metal and reached across his right pectoral. There were plenty of other scars marring the boy's body, but none quite so deep-set.

Well, besides the gory mess of blood and skin making up a good portion of his front left side and going through to his back.

Molly had snapped out of her daze the fastest, removing the poorly prepared bandaging splayed across the boy's stomach—Sirius had never been so good at healing spells. She was already beginning to bind the wound back together with magic when the door erupted open again.

Fabian and Gideon Prewitt stood, wrestling in the doorway.

"I wanna see him first—"

"You got to see him do his electric magic already—it's my turn!"

"_I can't concentrate with all of this ruckus!_" barked Molly, silencing her brothers. She looked up dangerously from her task. "Get out, _now_. Alastor, you too—make sure nobody else comes barging in." She paused, and then, reluctantly, "Please."

Moody narrowed his one good eye. "I'm standing watch over him," he jerked his head over to the kid. "No telling what'll happen if I leave you fools in charge."

Molly pursed her lips, but said nothing in return. She turned and glared at her brothers. They took the hint, slowly creeping out of the room, craning their necks to get a look at the kid before they left to guard the door. "That's strange," the redheaded woman muttered. "The scar isn't healing."

Sirius observed the wound. "He's not bleeding . . . "

"No, _that's_ fine," Molly insisted, leaning closer to the boy's stomach. "His injury is healed, but the scar tissue isn't regressing. It's as though something is coating that part of his skin."

"A curse scar?" grunted Moody, eye focusing on the wound as well.

Molly shook her head. "I suppose that _could_ be it, but the gouge itself didn't indicate any sort of curse or spell . . . "

Lily spoke up, confused. "I'm sorry, I don't quite understand. Why didn't anyone from the Order heal the boy at the scene, and then _obliviate_ his memories? Why bring him here?"

"The kid isn't a regular muggle," answered James. "He manipulated the earth with some sort of magic, and channeled it through his hands. He also knocked out about five Death Eaters—"

"_Including_ Bellatrix," cut in Sirius gleefully, letting out a snicker. "His fancy ground voodoo knocked out some of her teeth!"

"—with his fists. Four of them woke up and apparated away, but we got Amek Carrow, thanks to the kid slicing the guy's wand in half with some sort of dagger!" James finished, embellishing with a fake sword.

"So, we kinda just brought him with us before anyone else could say otherwise." Sirius grinned.

Moody stomped his wooden leg on the floor. "Black, allow me to remind you of your _recent_ membership with the Order. You don't have the authority to make calls like that," he croaked out. Sirius thought he rather resembled a bullfrog whose buggy lunch had gotten away from him.

Simply rolling his eyes in response, Sirius shoved his hands into the pockets of his robes and ignored the older man's fuming. This seemed to successfully increase the said fuming; Sirius inwardly rejoiced.

* * *

When Ed woke up, he couldn't help but think that he was much more comfortable than the last time he had shaken off unconsciousness. His throat and mouth were dry, and he groggily wiped away some drool that had gathered on his chin as well as the front of his pillow; the evidence of sleeping with his mouth open was already less than sticky and somewhat hardened. He grunted sleepily, but forced himself up into sitting position. His head was hindered by a dull throb at the base of his skull. He'd probably hit it when he blacked out earlier; the soreness indicated that he hadn't been out for long.

Blearily gazing around at his surroundings, Ed concluded that the un-masked robed people who surrounded him earlier hadn't, in fact, killed him. The circumstances actually felt rather accommodating . . .

Eyes widening, Ed slapped a hand down to this side, where the steel beam had pierced through his abdomen not a day previous. There was a slight bulge from the healed scarring that his attempted medical alchemy had produced, but other than that . . . he was healed. Ed yanked his shirt up, fingers prodding the lumpy skin before moving around to his backside, and feeling similar results there too. His arms fell limply against the bed's maroon comforter, closing his eyes tightly.

Ed wondered, for a moment, if he was going insane.

He had not imagined the bone-splitting pain that the wound had provoked; that, he was sure of. But this . . . it was yet another thing that lacked the sense he was currently craving. He needed logic; facts and figures and solidarity were what kept him stable. How was his life-threatening injury gone? There was no explanation.

_Magic._ The thought whispered through his head. Ed mentally transmuted a flamethrower and burned the thought to a blackened crisp.

Ed cracked his back before he got out of the bed, his shoes hardly making a sound on the floorboards as he crept towards the door. He slowly opened it, thankful that it didn't creak. He could now hear voices clearly coming from underneath him, and he realized he must have been up a floor or two. Crouching low, Ed looked both ways before cautiously leaning out of the doorway. He glanced upwards, starting for a moment when he saw that there were still about six floors above him. The building he was in seemed like a house . . . but maybe it was some sort of robed-cult infrastructure?

"...going to do with him, then?"

"Dumbledore has been alerted. I'm sure he'll be on his way shortly."

Ed's ears perked at the voices. There was a good hum of sound, suggesting that there had to be about six to ten people on the first floor. They weren't doing a very good job at keeping their conversations a secret, so it was safe to assume that they weren't expecting him to wake up as soon as he had. Ed took another look around the area outside his door; the stair banister was about four feet away. The building also seemed extremely narrow . . . even if he made a door on the other side of where the group was speaking he would probably still be heard.

Turning around, Ed made his way to the large window that was about two feet above the headboard of the bed. There was a hinge to the right. He clicked the latch up and the window swung open. Ed clambered up onto the bed and looked down, wincing. He was still about two or three stories up. Dimly, he realized that he could still hear voices, as he had forgotten to shut the door, and he keyed in on the sounds.

" . . . whatever he decides. I'm going to go check on the dear now."

"You might want to hurry with that, Molly. The brat is about to jump out the window."

Ed almost lost his footing on the edge of the windowsill at the gruff comment. He whirled around to the doorway, mouth agape. What, could these people see through walls, too?!

It had gone silent downstairs for about three seconds before there were frazzled shouts of alarm. His grand escape was failing before it had even started.

He placed his other foot on the windowsill, tugging frantically at his coat when it got stuck on the corner of the headboard.

Making a frustrated sound, Ed sucked in a quick breath and jumped. His braid whipped the back of his neck and his stomach whooshed as he fell the twenty-five feet to the lawn below. Luckily, he and Al were frequent victims of cliff and roof jumping from their many escapades (and from simply being shoved off areas of high vicinity by Izumi when they were kids), and he landed correctly, rolling front ways from when his toes initially perched upon the grass, and ending up on his automail knee after a jumbled somersault.

Ed grinned and didn't bother to look back up at the window he had just leapt from. He figured he had about thirty more seconds to vacate the immediate premises. He quickly got onto his feet and began to sprint away.

Unfortunately, he didn't see the hole in the ground.

"Ack!" His left foot snagged, and Ed face-planted into the grass before he could blink.

Eyebrow twitching, he pushed his face out of the dirt and stared directly into yet another hole. Upon closer observation, he saw that there were about half a dozen holes around the oversized garden that he was in.

Suddenly, a small, pointy-faced little creature zoomed out of the hole Ed's position forced him to stare into. It was chittering at him, in what he imagined was an angry manner, and Ed wasn't sure if he was seeing things from the fall or if he was actually being told off by something that was a cross between a rabid chipmunk and an Optainian midget . . .

Slowly, Ed brought up his left hand and flicked the creature in the nose.

The little thing looked stunned for a moment. Then, with a rapidness Ed didn't expect, it clamped down on his finger with what felt like a hundred dagger-sharp teeth.

"_Yeeeeoooowwww!_"

* * *

It was after Molly had dashed upstairs that they heard the kid shout. James expected that he'd at least have broken one of his legs, if not both, from such an idiotic escape effort. He was not the only one surprised when, after they had all rushed out the front door and around the back yard, the boy seemed utterly fine and in one piece.

Well, except for the gnome currently gnawing on his finger.

"Get off, you little bastard! _Get off get off get off!"_

James probably would have laughed if the kid hadn't just jumped out of a third story window and survived. Sirius, a few steps behind him, actually did start laughing. Most of the other Order members who arrived about twenty minutes ago simply looked bewildered. Vance, a new member, held her wand out, and looked back and forth between Moody and the little blondie, brows furrowed in confusion.

The kid finally jerked his arm up hard enough that the gnome went flying. It hit the ground in a jumped heap, shook its fist at the boy, and then dove down a hole. The kid turned to face them furiously, irritation sporting off of him in waves.

Sirius broke the silence, grinning. "You want a bandage for that, kid? Gnome bites are nasty." If the kid had known Sirius as James did, he probably would have noticed the mocking tone. As it were, the kid simply continued to glare.

"C'mon," Sirius continued. "Can't you at least tell us your name? We _did_ patch you up, and all."

The kid stiffened, but made no move to speak up. He actually seemed determined to not speak, judging by the way his jaw was clenched shut. His arms were held tightly at his sides. James noticed his eyes sweeping the lot of them before glancing to each side and realized that he was mapping out the best route to get away from them all.

"Don't even think about running, twerp," Moody grouched from behind him, seeming to have noticed the same thing. "We've got you surrounded."

The boy flushed an angry red. "Who're you calling _twerp_, you rickety old gimp?!"

Evidently, the kid wasn't so good at the whole silent treatment thing.

As Moody and the kid locked one another in a battle of leering, Molly shoved past James and walked over to the boy, hands placed on her hips. "And just _what_ were you thinking, hmmm? Pulling a stunt like that—" she gestured to the window—"you could have died!"

This time James did chuckle, because the kid took a step back, his expression boggled at Molly's full on mother-mode.

"What?" the blonde started, half-annoyed, half-taken aback. "I'm _fine_. Just call your guard dog off me," he sneered at Moody, "and I'll be on my way." James watched as Mad-Eye's complexion turned a purplish color, obviously not taking well to being called a dog. The auror took a step forward, lifting his wand up—at the motion, the kid narrowed his eyes, getting into some sort of position—

Molly intervened, once more. "I'll not be tolerating any sort of argument, boys." She turned a needlepoint glare onto Moody. "Alastor, the last thing we need is your superiority complex taking over this situation. We'll wait for Dumbledore before starting onto any sort of questioning, _understand_?"

James thought that she looked particularly frightening, in that moment.

"As for _you_." She looked down at the boy, who took yet another step back. She smiled. "How about we get you something to eat, dear."

The kid seemed rather put out by the sudden mood change, though, it didn't stop him from protesting something fierce as Molly grabbed the sleeve of his coat and started to drag him in the direction of the front door, griping about how he could make his own food or something. The rest of the group followed, wary and confused.

James trotted over to Sirius, who was examining the exchange between the plump, redheaded woman and the skinny blonde kid with a good deal of interest. "So," started James casually, raising his eyebrows at his best friend. "What d'you make of him?"

"Not sure yet," said Sirius. "I like him though."

James grinned. "As do I, Padfoot. Think we can get the little guy to talk?"

"But of course, Prongs. And if we can't, it'll be jolly good fun trying."

* * *

A/N:

No major cliffhanger (this time . . .). The next few chapters are essential in setting things up for the rest of the story, so bear with me. That's why I let this chapter start with some good, ol' action-y goodness.

REVIEWS ARE BETTER THAN CHOCOLATE FROGS. Also the more I get, the more likely I will be to update sooner. That's all.

Mwah!


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